in case
by wildegreenlight
Summary: He'd truly believed that his family's blood status would keep them, keep him safe. He'd even thought foolishly that he could use that to protect Hermione. But then came the Cattermoles. He just couldn't stop putting himself in Reginald Cattermole's shoes. The thought of Hermione sitting in that courtroom while that toad smirked down at her...DH MISSING MOMENT (comes after "just")


It was wrong, all wrong: not that he was really sure just how he'd pictured it. It wasn't like he'd thought that hunting horcruxes would be easy or safe or hell, glamorous, but he had assumed that he'd be doing it with two functioning arms.

Now here he was again, flat on his back with her tending to him. Having an excuse to have her so close; her smooth, cool hands brushing back his hair from his fevered face, her nimble fingers gently adjusting his bandages, was most certainly not a bad thing, but it was not what he had wanted. He had wanted to be the one doing the tending. Not that he wanted her hurt, the thought made him literally sick to his stomach, but he needed to show her that she could depend on him. That night in his room, just a few weeks ago, he'd actually felt that for the first time she understood, really _understood_ what he was saying, what he was feeling. Which was a special type of miracle considering how long it took him to understand it his own damn self.

He'd spent all of fourth year trying to actively _not_ think about what made his friendship with Hermione so different from his one with Harry. Despite popular opinion, he _had _known she was a girl, in a vague sort of way. He'd also already known that he liked her as something more than just a friend. But that was the same with Harry: both had flown right past the "friends" category and into "family" long before that ill-fated ball. But as fifth year loomed, a realization came clawing at him: he wanted to snog Hermione, and that was most certainly _not _the same as Harry.

So the next year or so had been dedicated to the futile task of trying to convince himself that he wanted to snog _a_ girl and that it was only because Hermione was around all the time that he wanted it to be her. It would have been a right decent plan too except for the fact that he never found himself wanting to kiss anyone else. Sure Fleur's Veela death ray made his mind go fuzzy sometimes, but it wasn't the same. When his soon-to-be sister-in-law left the room, the effect vanished. When Hermione left the room, it didn't lessen his snog- wants in the slightest. In fact, as he learned in a spectacularly disastrous fashion, even snogging someone else didn't cure it.

He didn't want it to sound quite so insulting to Lavender: she really was a nice enough girl. And, if here were being completely honest, all the attention and all the kissing were nice _at first_, but even then it was like eating a tin of biscuits when you aren't particularly hungry. You're all like, _Wicked! There's biscuits! _And you have a few, and they're ok, because they are biscuits after all, but when you finish them you don't feel particularly satisfied. So, just when he'd sussed out that in addition to loving Hermione in the same way that he loved Harry and his family, he had another, even deeper feeling that he wasn't ready to name yet, he thought he had lost her altogether.

He guessed that love and magic were a lot alike. They were both frequently complicated, not everyone believed in them, and you didn't always appreciate them until you couldn't make them work. They were both also words that quite honestly got overused. Ron Weasley grew up in a home whose very fabric was love and magic. Being friends with Harry had taught him just how much he took them both for granted. It had been both of those forces that made his 17th birthday so memorable. He would like to think that he and Hermione would have worked it out, would have stopped being so stubborn without his near-death experience, but he wasn't so sure.

After that day, he'd vowed to make it right. He knew it might be a long process, but she was worth it. Their friendship and whatever he might hope to build on that foundation, were worth it. They had made so much progress over the last few months: talking, planning, comforting one another. But now, he grimaced as he tried to adjust his position on the cot, he felt so useless. How could she depend on him if he could barely move?

Ron's movement brought her to his side. She hovered over him, a tenderness in her eyes that most people didn't know she possessed. He knew. It was one of the things he was most proud of: knowing the things about Hermione Granger that no one else did.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, just hard to get comfortable."

"Want to sit up for a bit?"

He nodded and braced himself. Changing positions was the worst, yet the best part of his injury. It hurt like hell, but if he blocked the pain out, he could enjoy having her wrapped so closely around him.

She bent down and hooked an arm underneath his good one. He took a moment to appreciate her proximity: the warm smell of her hair, the soft feel of her body touching his. He could almost let himself imagine all the things he should not be imagining. It had been the same during his poisoning recovery. It was a simple fantasy really: he would just turn back the covers beside him and she would climb in next to him. It didn't particularly matter what came next: anything, everything, or even nothing. It was the closeness he craved more than anything else.

Hermione pulled back slightly when she had his torso upright, "This better?"

"Can we shift a bit to the right?" he knew it wouldn't be any more comfortable, but at least it ensured that she would hold on a bit longer.

"Sure," Hermione seemed to be in no hurry to let go either. Once he was settled, she made no attempt to leave, staying instead on the edge of his bed.

For the millionth time he cursed his poor timing. If only they'd had a little more time to sort things before the world had gone sideways. _More time? Are you mental...you've had actual, bloody __**years**_**. **It was like Charlie always said, _Ron, you could fall into a cauldron full of tits and come out sucking your own thumb. _

_Charlie…at least maybe he was safe, in Romania, but what about the rest of them? What about Ginny and his mum and his dad and..._

"Ron?" Her face was tight with concern.

"Oh, sorry...I was just thinking," as much as he didn't want her to worry about him, his heart still warmed at the fact that she did.

"About?"

"Jus' my family," it wasn't that he didn't want to talk to her about it, and he wouldn't lie, but he didn't want to worry her any more than he had to.

"I'm sure they're fine," she was doing her best to sound convincing, "at least you saw your dad at the Ministry so we know he is alright, and he wouldn't have been there if anyone else was in trouble, right?"

"Guess so...makes sense."

He had tried telling himself the very same thing, and it was a small comfort.

"And your mum and dad would know when it wasn't safe...they would know when to go and what to do, this is even less new to them than it is to us."

That was true. In an abstract way he knew what his parents had been through in the past, that they were part of the Order now, but it had never seemed as real to him as it did now. All the stories he'd heard growing up about his parents and the first war seemed to be just stories. He wondered if one day their children _getting a little ahead of yourself, aren't you? _would feel the same way about their part in all this.

"Y'know, I've never really appreciated how much they're risking, how dangerous it really is," he searched for the right words, he didn't want to scare her any more than he had to, "but after what we saw."

She shuddered visibly, "I know, I just can't get over how brave he is, going there every day."

"Exactly! And we were only there a few hours," he fought back a tiny wisp of panic, "I just wish I could do something."

Hermione reached out and took his free hand with both of her smaller ones, "but you are!"

"Am I?" Self disgust saturated his question.

"Yes! I know that right now it doesn't feel like it, but we are making progress, even if it's not the way we planned."

"I want to believe that...I just," the feeling of her so close was suddenly overwhelming, and he found himself wondering if it might not be possible to just live the rest of their lives right there in that tent, "feel so bloody useless."

"Don't you think I feel that way too?"

"If you do, you shouldn't," _how could she ever think such rubbish?_

"I was worse than useless yesterday," she glanced over at his bandaged arm, "I got you hurt."

"You saved me, saved all of us! If you hadn't been so quick...I don't even want to think about what would've happened!" He felt anger rising up through his chest and lodging in his clenched jaw.

"We were lucky, that's for sure," she smiled down at their clasped hands.

_Luck always runs out_.

Just a few days ago he had been so confident, so naive. Their trip to the ministry had opened his eyes to so many things. Even though he'd always been unaware of it consciously, he'd truly believed that his family's blood status would keep them, keep him safe. He'd even thought foolishly that he could use that to protect Hermione. But then came the Cattermoles. He just couldn't stop putting himself in Reginald Cattermole's shoes. The thought of Hermione sitting in that courtroom while that _toad_ smirked down at her...every time he thought about it, he wanted to puke. And Mary hadn't even been anyone of real importance to Umbridge: how much worse would it be if she caught them? Could Hermione not see how bad this really was? Did he want her to?

"Hermione...I need you to listen to me, there's something important I need you to promise me, ok?"

She studied his face, her eyes locking with his, "You know I would do anything you needed me to."

_Did he? _For the most part, yes, but he knew she was not going to like what he was about to ask of her. He took a deep breath and continued before he lost his nerve.

"In case...in case something happens...to me," he tried to finish, but the sight of tears in her eyes made him lose his momentum.

Her voice was barely a whisper, but it was hard as steel, "don't say that...don't ever say that."

"I have to...we have to...look, I'm going to do my damndest to stick around, to keep you safe, to keep all of us safe, but," he ignored her shaking head, "but you have to promise me, in case something does happen."

"Promise what exactly.'

"Promise me you will go."

"Go where?"

"To Australia...to your parents," it wasn't ideal, but it was the best he could do.

"Leave Harry?"

"No...yes...damn it Hermione, I don't know! I just want you safe."

"I want you safe too, would you make that promise to me? Would you leave if something happened to me?"

"Don't want to think about it," he closed his eyes, swearing under his breath, "s'not a fair question really?"

"Why not? Why can you give me a "in case" and I can't? "

"Because in that "case" I can't see myself giving a single fuck what happened to me," a tear slipped down his cheek, but he didn't try to stop it.

"Don't you think I feel that way too?'

_Did he? _Isn't that what he wanted? It was wonderful, awful thing...that she might, truly feel for him what he felt for her.

"What do we do, then?" that he had spoken the question aloud seemed to surprise her just as much as it did him.

"What we always do...keep each other going."

"Keep each other safe."

Ron's fears were by no means assuaged, but he had learned when not to argue with Hermione. He knew there was no way to convince her, well, because there would be no way to convince him. As much as it might appear, on the surface, that they were different, he had grown to appreciate just how alike they really were.

"Do you want me to let you rest? I've got some reading to do, I could do it outside or," she looked suddenly shy especially considering the gravity of their conversation, "I could stay here...in case."

"In case?"

"Well, in case you need me."

Hadn't he all but spelled out to her just how much he did? How he couldn't stand the thought of a world, magical or muggle, without her in it? Why was it so hard for her, for him, for _them_ to let go of those last few scraps of insecurity?

"I think we have already established that's always the case, even when I'm too pigheaded to admit it."

The last thing Ron remembered before he drifted of to sleep, _side effect of the pain potions, _was Hermione resting securely in the crook of his arm as she read. He knew that it would not, could not last. That what they had seen at the Ministry was just the beginning of a long hard road. He prayed to anyone who might be listening that when their task was done, that he might have a lifetime to hold her just like this. But, just in case, he decided to enjoy every moment he had been given right now.


End file.
